


Counting the miles

by linndechir



Category: Justified
Genre: Gen, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim finds himself stuck in a car with Raylan for a very long drive. And maybe there are worse people to be stuck in a car with, but that still doesn't exactly improve Tim's mood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting the miles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [someotherstorm (rumbrave)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumbrave/gifts).



> Dear someotherstorm, this is not really the kind of fic I usually write and I just hope you still like it a little. No Ava on this little road trip, but Tim doesn't want to let anyone else drive either. I hope that works for you, too.

Not for the first time since they had rolled out of Lexington, Tim was wondering if Art's intention had been to punish Raylan by sending him to pick up a prisoner from the other end of the state, or Tim by making him babysit Raylan. Yeah, sure, the official explanation was that the office over there was understaffed and it was their case anyway, or maybe Art just owed someone a favour and saw an easy opportunity to repay it, but Tim still needed someone he could blame for being stuck in a car with Raylan for a whole damn day when he had actually been looking forward to going home early that night.

It wasn't that Tim didn't like Raylan, he just didn't like him enough to want to spend a whole day with him on the road – although, if he was quite honest about it, Tim didn't really like anyone enough for that. They had spent the first half hour of the trip chatting about various kinds of firearms, which had led Tim to the conclusion that Raylan, as good as he was with a handgun – and Tim acknowledged without any envy that Raylan's quick draw was a thing of beauty – just had no proper appreciation for rifles. Tim found it almost personally insulting when people didn't appreciate rifles.

Raylan had tried to break the ensuing – very pleasant, Tim had thought – silence by turning on the radio. Which had led to an attempt at talking about music – neither of them really knew anything about music – or more precisely a discussion about the virtues of listening to music on a long drive, or lack thereof. Tim had nothing against live music, he could appreciate the atmosphere of some local band playing in a bar, but when he was at home, or stuck in a car, he preferred silence. He generally liked it quiet more often than not. The world was a damn noisy place, and while it didn't stress him as such – he wasn't that much of a headcase, thank you very much – he found silence simply relaxing.

Raylan had got the hint at some point and decided to go to sleep. Tim had sighed a little into the silence, as grateful as he was for it. He'd always been a terrible sleeper, and a couple of tours in Afghanistan had turned him into a hopeless insomniac who more often than not went on midnight runs in the hope that he'd just fall over from exhaustion afterwards, so if anything he just envied Raylan's ability to doze off in a car. Either way, Raylan's snoring was better than their failed attempts at having civil conversations. Sarcastic comments from both sides could only carry a conversation for so long.

Still, in a way Tim rather liked Raylan. Sure, he was a reckless asshole, but Tim could respect a man who did what he thought was right, and he could definitely respect a man who would stop at just about nothing for the people he cared about. Tim had no family, he'd never had a relationship that lasted for long enough to be worth remembering, but he had his Army buddies, and he preferred not to think too much about how many rules he'd break if they ever needed his help.

Or maybe he was just more forgiving of how much of a pain in the ass Raylan could be because he provided a welcome distraction at work. Tim knew better than to hit on a colleague, ever, and years in the Army had got him more than used to working with attractive men without ever letting on what he might want from them, but that didn't keep him from enjoying the view. And Raylan had a lot that was worth looking at, long legs in jeans that were just a tad tighter than they needed to be, that hint of a beard on his face that made Tim think way too much about just how scratchy it would be on his skin, that whole cowboy thing he had going on that should look utterly ridiculous, but somehow Raylan managed to pull it off. Maybe just because Tim had always had a soft spot for angry men with guns. Part of him was hoping for their prisoner transport to go just a little bit wrong because of that; at least working with Raylan was never boring. The saner part of his brain was hoping Raylan would just behave for once.

As if to mock Tim's thoughts about welcome distractions, Raylan chose that moment to destroy the perfect picture of a cowboy dozing peacefully under the brim of his hat to snore, and pretty damn loudly, too. For a moment Tim almost felt petty enough to turn on the radio to wake him, but then he'd just have to convince Raylan to turn it off again. 

So he let Raylan sleep, enjoyed the silence and the mind-numbing boredom of the road. It wasn't as good as running to clear his head, but there were probably still worse ways to spend a day. He could be scanning dollar bills right now. Or getting shot at because Raylan was actively pissing someone off for no good reason, instead of sleeping.

It wasn't until Tim pulled over at a gas station after another fifty miles that Raylan woke up. Tim grinned at the confused, plaintive noise Raylan made when he blinked against the sun, the way his hat slid down when he flinched and then sat up. Raylan looked outside, the frown deepened on his face.

"We there yet?" He didn't quite sound like a impatient child, but it was close enough to make Tim chuckle.

"Does it look like we're there?" Tim got out of the car and stretched, made a face when his joints cracked. He would have thought that if he could spend 12 hours lying still on a rooftop, he wouldn't be so stiff after not even half that long in a car. Maybe he was getting old, as unreal as the idea of turning 30 this winter felt. Raylan joined him, leant against the hood of the car, easily adjusting is hat to guard his eyes from the sun, while Tim just blinked against it. 

"Stopping for gas?" Raylan asked. Even standing there, he somehow reminded Tim of a lazy cat, lounging around in the sun. There was something about the way he insisted on leaning on things, with that bored, relaxed confidence. Raylan always managed to seem completely at ease, and while Tim had no idea how much of that was for show and how much of it was actually not giving a damn what anyone thought of him, it still looked perfectly effortless. Tim turned his head away to blink at the sun again. He really needed to keep his dirty thoughts about the way Raylan cocked his hips for after hours.

"Nah, I just need a few minutes' break from your snoring.”

From the corner of his eyes he saw Raylan glance down at his watch, then raise his eyebrows in what Tim assumed was surprise. It had been two hours since Raylan had dozed off like a child.

“I could drive for a while,” he offered. Tim appreciated it; for all the trouble Raylan gave them he wasn't always a pain to be around, if you didn't get on his bad side. Tim didn't say that, of course, just smirked a little at him.

“I'm not gonna let you drive my car. Especially not while I'm in it.”

“Why not?” Raylan was making one of those faces that looked like he had somehow more facial muscles than normal people, and which could express anything from disbelief over confusion to annoyance. It was hard to say, but Tim was pretty sure this was slightly indignant surprise.

“I've seen you drive. You know, it's generally recommended to keep at least one hand on the wheel at all times. Ice cream or phone, you can't have both.”

“Oh, I did that once.” A pause, before Raylan conceded, “While you were in the car.”

“My point exactly. I like my car, I'm not trusting you with it.”

“You trust me to watch your back when someone's shooting at us,” Raylan argued, and Tim was pretty sure that he didn't actually give a damn about getting to drive, he was just offended that Tim didn't let him.

“You don't usually eat ice cream in situations where people might start shooting at us.”

“I'd piss off a lot less people if I did.”

Tim couldn't help but laugh at that because Raylan's love for ice cream was ridiculous, and somehow so at odds with everything else about him that Tim couldn't help but be amused by it. He wondered if he should tell Raylan that he had an ice cream maker at home, not that he ever used it much. Tim's cooking was pretty damn good, if he said so himself – the result of spending years eating crappy Army food and, unlike his buddies, not having a mother or a wife who'd cook for him at home – but he'd never really got the hang out of making ice cream. Better that way, unless he wanted Raylan to start living in his kitchen.

So Tim didn't say anything, just closed his eyes against the sun, enjoying the warmth on his face. He didn't like heat much, not since Afghanistan, but he liked spring well enough. It was pleasantly warm and the air smelt nice and it was light already when he went for a run in the morning, and Tim had always known to appreciate the small things in life. Raylan stayed quiet next to him, and it was actually the most comfortable silence since they had left Lexington. Maybe Art sending them on this little road trip together had been his weird idea of a bonding exercise or something, and not a devious plan to ruin both their days.

A couple of minutes passed until Tim felt Raylan shift, then heard the crunching steps of his cowboy boots moving away from the car.

“Where are you going?”

He looked up to see Raylan turn towards him again, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. Cocking his hips again as if he wanted Tim to stare, the bastard.

“If you're not gonna let me drive, I might as well get ice cream. You want anything?”

Tim shook his head mutely, even though he was fairly sure what he'd need to deal with Raylan eating ice cream next to him was a strong drink or two. But he just waited patiently – he was good at waiting – eyes closed so they could rest for a bit, until the steps returned. Raylan had a ridiculously happy expression on his face, licking ice cream from the cone and smiling about it as much as any five-year-old. 

“If you drop any ice cream on my car seats, you can walk the rest of the way,” Tim warned him as they got back into the car. Raylan looked vaguely insulted.

“Wouldn't waste perfectly good ice cream like that.” Another lick, this time accompanied by a soft sigh that sounded positively indecent, and Tim actually stared for half a second before he tore himself away and started the car. He was pretty sure he needed neither that view nor those sounds on his mind when he had to spend another hour with him in the car before they'd even pick up the prisoner, never mind the drive back to Lexington. Not for the first time he wondered if Raylan was incredibly oblivious to the effect he had on people, or if he was just a fucking tease. The way he was eating that ice cream made the latter seem far more likely. Tim gritted his teeth and pointedly stared at the road in front of him.

Maybe he should have just let Raylan drive.


End file.
